Let The 25th Hunger Games Begin!
by quinndex
Summary: Dace Marchley's District is afraid of her temper, and of the rebel inside of her - how will Dace fare when she is sent into the 25th Hunger Games to fight for her life? This is my first story so please read & review!
1. Chapter 1  The Vote

CHAPTER ONE: The Vote

Today is the day of the vote. Luci and Freddie - or Frida, but nobody calls her that - are safe, I am sure of that. Nobody would vote for such weak little girls - and I do not mean that in a bad way. Luci is the quiet one, a shy, yet caring girl, and Freddie can't even win an armwrestle against her ten-year-old brother, Job. On the other hand, I am the girl who was nearly shot aged just five for accidentally-on-purposely hitting that Peacekeeper. If it wasn't for Caile's begging for my life, I wouldn't have seen my sixth birthday.

I am also the girl who yelled prejudices against the Capitol until I was twelve. That was the year of my first Reaping, when my name was pulled out of that huge glass ball.

That was the year Caile died. My loving, big sister Caile, who went to the Games to save my life. Ever since then, I've wondered if the Reaping was rigged so I'd die. Obviously, it wasn't a foolproof method.

Caile would've done anything to keep me alive. She'd proven that. And I'd had to watch her die.

I just hope the younger brother of that District Three tribute who killed Caile - the brother we saw on the Victory Tour - is picked in this year's Reaping. Dru Hollis, that's his name. If he's picked, then I will kill him.

I sigh. This is my third Reaping - I am fourteen this year, so I have done Reapings when I was twelve and thirteen. I've never been afraid of my name being picked out before, after that first year. I've never taken tesserae - the curse of the poorer districts - since Caile and later Fendrel wouldn't let me. Fendrel is fifteen this year, a year older than I am, and his name would be in that ball thirty times this year, after all the tesserae he's taken. Except the names aren't coming out of a big glass ball this year. There's a vote.

The first Quarter Quell is this year. Every twenty-five years there's Hunger Games which is changed in some way, and this is the first time it's happened. Twenty-five years ago, after the rebellion which the older generation are forbidden to talk about, they wrote down that each district would vote on which children would enter the arena this year.

If I am chosen, I will have been betrayed. Yet almost not, because everyone over the age of eighteen has to vote, and they have to choose. And who wouldn't want to get rid of me?

The crowd is huge, the entrance to the Justice Building blocked by a flock of grim-looking farmers. District Eleven is full of farmers - agriculture is our district's speciality. Nothing that would help us in the Hunger Games, of course, unless someone found a packet of seeds and grew themselves some food. It'd have to be pretty fast-growing food, though. Either that, or a really long Hunger Games. But then the Capitol'd get bored, and the Gamemakers would drive the tributes together in the arena somewhere.

My mind plays with the idea. The arena could be a giant farm...

But then someone would complain that they were giving District Eleven an unfair advantage.

My fingers play along the rough wood underneath my desk. I hardly even know what is being taught any more; I've been watching the crowd outside the Justice Building for too long. District Eleven is queueing up to vote on their tributes.

I see my mother and father among the crowd. My mother's hair is coming out of her bun, and she is whispering something to my father. They both look upset. Maybe they can't choose who to vote for. I hope they don't vote for me. I mean, they're my parents. What kind of parent would vote for their own child to die?

They're actually pretty close to me. I can hear some of their conversation. They're both voting for the same girl and the same boy, in the hopes that it will lessen the chance of me or my siblings being chosen. I hear a name from my mother, the name of the girl: Ruta Vasher.

My head whips around, my bun coming halfway out due to the motion. Ruta's head is bent over a sheet, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her dark hair is down, waving to halfway down her back, her hand scrawling across the paper, pen between her fingers. Or maybe _scrawling_ is the wrong word; Ruta's hands can do the most amazing things. She can tie the most intricate knots, fix the most complicated of our farming machines. Her handwriting is small, and the neatest I've ever seen. When she braids her sister's hair, the wealthier people in our district pay to come and watch her work.

She's clever, too. Maybe she could survive a few days, maybe even weeks, in the arena. But it seems unfair to condemn her to death, when she has such a bright future ahead of her. Hairdressing isn't a popular career in this District - in fact I think Ruta's the only one who has ever made money out of it - but I think the wealthier residents might pay a lot to have them do their hair, or watch her do someone else's. Litte Siana Lauter, the mayor's five-year-old daughter, had her hair braided into one of the most intricate designs I've ever seen for her fifth birthday. Not that I was there when Ruta did it. I saw her father parading around town with Siana on his back that evening.

Ruta didn't even speak about it in school the next day. It was her sister, Priss, who told everyone.

I almost growl. My parents shouldn't even be thinking about sending Ruta into the arena.

Or maybe they think nobody else will vote for her? I could forgive them, if that were the case. But the truth is, everyone is so protective of Ruta, that if they heard anyone had voted for her... they'd be some sort of outcast, I suppose. Ruta's not really got any friends - she prefers to be on her own - and some of the boys have tried to take advantage of her vulnerability in the past. Luci, Freddie and I talk to her sometimes, try to protect her from everyone who wishes her harm...as do half the other girls in the school. The boys just don't care, really.

No matter what Caile would feel, at this point...if they are allowing volunteers this year - which I doubt - and if Ruta gets chosen, I am going to the Games this year. Because I will do what I can to save Ruta's life, even if it means dying myself.

At two o'clock tomorrow, I will be outside the Justice Building with everyone else. It would be Caile's final year of eligibility this year, yet she'll always be the sixteen year old who saved me in my head. She'd still save me today, I'm sure. Even if there were no volunteers, she'd find a way.

I vaguely wonder what's happening in the richer districts. Volunteers from those districts have been on overdrive for the past few years, now enough time has passed for the kids to have training as they grow up. I've seen those boys, who lunge forwards year after year, the girls who scramble over each other to reach the stage, until their Escort points to the first girl who yelled "I volunteer!" who has usually been trampled all over at this point. In one of the districts, there's a boy who's tried to volunteer the last six years and always been too late. Zamial, I think his name is. This year is the last year he'll be able to get into the Games. Maybe he's busy threatening people to vote for him right now.

Not that they'd need threatening here. If someone asked you to vote for them, you would, to save your own child.

"DACE MARCHLEY!"

I jump at the sound of my name. Of course, it's my teacher, yelling at me for not paying attention. Ruta's hand is high in the air, obviously wanting to give Mr. Balla an answer. But he turned to me instead.

"Question three?" Mr. Balla asks.

I look down. There's a sheet in front of me, which I guess someone must have given out earlier because everyone else has finished theirs. I haven't even picked up my pen.

Question three, by the looks of things, is the most complicated one on the sheet.

"I don't know, sir," I whisper.

Mr. Balla looks to the Peacekeeper who is standing by the door. Peacekeepers are a normality in school; there's one in each classroom, supposedly so we don't attack the teacher. Or maybe so the teacher doesn't attack us. But the Capitol doesn't really care about kids. The Hunger Games have proven that, twenty-four times over.

The Peacekeeper shakes his head, and Mr. Balla sighs. Sometimes the silent arguments Mr. Balla and his Peacekeeper, Luiss, get into can be quite funny - I guess they're not on the best of terms - but today I just feel relieved. I've seen Hywel Glint whipped for not paying attention in school. That was years ago, though, when I was ten, and he was eighteen then.

I get a good look at Luiss - something I've never done before; he was never that interesting to me - and I find him slighly familiar. Something like the Peacekeeper from when I was five, when I had a massive temper tantrum and hit the Peacekeeper for something he said to me about Caile. But that Peacekeeper was called Leonel, not Luiss.

Luiss catches my eye, and smiles at me. I've never had a Peacekeeper smile at me before, and instantly I'm sure that what he's doing is against the rules. That I should be punished. But he's not giving me punishment.

The night passes slowly. Like every Reaping before, I dream of Caile. But this time is different; we are at the Reaping. I am twelve. Kalla Lonis, the District Eleven Escort, is talking to the audience, her multiple earrings jangling as she moves her head, her gold feather eyelashes fluttering as she blinks, the sparkling tattoo on the side of her neck glittering in the sunlight.

_"Happy Twenty-third Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour..." Kalla says, in that odd Capitol accent, as she floats over to stand behind the giant glass ball that holds the girl's names. "It's time to pick our tributes! Ladies first, do you say...or do we pick our boy?" Kalla waits a second, but there's only silence, so she carries on. "Ladies first it is!" Her hand digs into the paper slips like a hungry child would dig into a plate of food. She brings out a handful of slips, like she always does, and runs her hand through them, picking just one out. She lets the rest drop back into the glass ball as she reads out the name._

_"Caile Marchley!"_

_Caile! I try to yell. Caile, no! I volunteer! I'll go to the Capitol, I'll be the tribute, just leave Caile alone!_

_But nothing comes out of my mouth, and then they choose the boy tribute, but I don't hear his name, see his face. I'm still trying to yell for Caile, still trying to get them to hear me, but I can't. And then Caile's gone, in the Justice Building, and there's nothing I can do..._

My eyes flutter open. It's still the dead of the night before Reaping Day. I walk to my window, down into the little street below, crowded with houses. I can see the Justice Building in the distance, the giant three-story school that every child - rich or poor - in District Eleven's largest town must attend. There are other schools - two more - out in the villages, but they're not half as big.

The Justice Building stands tall and proud, the clock tells me it's just past two o'clock in the morning. Twelve hours to go until the Reaping Ceremony. It seems like forever.

Twelve hours, just twelve hours, until I know who's safe for another year, and who's not.

Luci and Freddie will still be sleeping, safe in their knowledge that nobody would choose them. But since I was five, my temper has had me known as District Eleven's biggest rebel, and the District would probably be glad to be rid of such a dangerous girl. A girl that could trick them all into an uprising, and make the Capitol obliterate them like they did District Thirteen just a quarter of a century ago. It's strange, really, since I've changed a lot since I was five, yet everyone seems to see me as the same girl who hit the Peacekeeper and shouted out unsayable things about the Capitol. I don't really even have a temper any more; that first Reaping killed the fire in me.

For the next few hours, I watch the clock, wondering, wondering, wondering who will be chosen today. In the Justice Building, the Peacekeepers will be counting the votes, finding out who the 'winner' is. It's nearly eight o'clock before anyone else gets up, since nobody wants Reaping Day to start. But I guess it has to start, eventually.

Breakfast. A few hours on the farm - Reaping Day marks the beginning of the Harvest season, ironically enough, so the harvesting machines had to be checked to make sure they work. The day seems to pass in a blur, and by half past one in the afternoon, staring at myself in the mirror, wearing Caile's old Reaping outfit - the little green dress she wore when she was thirteen - I can't even remember what I was doing five minutes beforehand. Walking down to the square, being roped off into an area with all the fourteen year old girls and boys in our district, standing between Luci and Ruta - Freddie turned fifteen just days ago - waiting, waiting, waiting.

Waiting, waiting...

Waiting.

Kalla Lonis walks out of the Justice Building, followed by Judley Lauter, the mayor, and two past District Eleven victors - Mylo Kilby and Tiah Rupus. Mylo Kilby won the first ever Hunger Games, before anyone had thought of training tributes. A year later, of course, some of the richer districts had started to train the twelve- to eighteen-year-olds, and so a District Two tribute won the second Hunger Games. Tiah Rupus won when everyone was focusing on her rather large and extremely protective cousin and fellow tribute Veyshal, who had the biggest kill list of all the tributes that year. Tiah and Veyshal ended up being the last two tributes in the arena, which was when Veyshal learnt that actually, Tiah could fend for herself pretty well. She didn't care for Veyshal that much, either.

"Welcome to the Twenty-fifth Hunger Games - the First Quarter Quell!" Kalla shouts out to the audience. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favour! You all know what happens today...we pick our tributes! All of you who are over the age of eighteen voted for a tribute yesterday, but before I read out the results, I just need to remind you of one little thing..."

Mayor Lauter steps forwards. The history of Panem - something that is forever imprinted on my mind - will now be retold to the entire District Eleven. Not that there's anybody over the age of three who doesn't know the whole story. Even the babies get the gist of things.

I wait the story out, only zoning back in when Kalla steps forwards again. "So, it's time to read out the results! Ladies, are you ready?" She's probably hoping for a cheer, but none comes, so she glides over to the large glass ball, which only holds one slip today instead of thousands. "Say a big hello to... Dace Marchley!"

Dace Marchley. I look around to see who it is before I realise it's me. Everyone in Panem will have seen that now. I am going to look like a big idiot.

I stumble, red faced, up to the stage. They don't ask for volunteers, and who would volunteer anyway? I have no sisters. Luci and Freddie are too close to their families. Maybe Ruta would, but I'll never really know now. Caile would have, but her chance had been and gone, and she'd taken it, and it hadn't been enough.

"So, we have our female tribute!" Kalla says. "This is the girl _you_ chose to be your tribute in the Hunger Games this year! What I want to know is...which boy did you choose?" She floats over to the other glass ball and scoops out the slip. "Jede Vasher, make your way up to the stage!"

Vasher? I make my eyes focus on the boy who's walking, as if in a dream, up to where Kalla and I are on the stage. Same dark hair as everyone, same wide eyes as Ruta, same thin nose as Priss. He's their brother, no doubt, yet I had no idea that Ruta even had a brother. He could be their cousin, but the likeliness is too much. I can see Ruta's facial expression copied in his, the same one she wears whenever there's a loud noise, or a bad smell, or when she's talking to someone and she doesn't know what to say - which happens quite often, and is probably the reason Ruta doesn't talk much.

I scan the crowd for Ruta, and I find her soon enough, right where she was before. I can see Luci standing next to her, trying to calm her down as she breaks into pieces, crying silently and punching whoever gets close enough in anger, in revenge on the world for what's going to happen to Jede. I'm betting on Luci having a few bruises, but she stays there for Ruta. Jede isn't strong, or fast, not like that Zamial boy from whichever district it is. Ruta knows he's going to die, and Priss probably knows it too, and their parents. And Jede. Priss, just eleven years old, standing by her mother on the last year she won't have to worry about going to the Capitol to die, isn't crying. She's comforting her mother and father.

I wonder what Luci's saying to Ruta right now, but I don't have long to wonder, as the Peacekeepers whisk me away into the depths of the Justice Building.

**End of Chapter Notes:**

**I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. No, really, I don't. Haven't you ever heard of Suzanne Collins?**

**BTW, first story. Be nice to me :) but I want constructive criticism, okay? I want this story to be the best it can be - also, the story doesn't have a set plot although I've written the first few chapters, so if you have an idea you want me to write in, post it and I'll see if I like it.**


	2. Chapter 2 Goodbyes

CHAPTER TWO: Goodbyes

The door opens. I sit up on the bed, welcoming my two younger brothers into my arms. My parents stand, arms wrapped around each other, with Fendrel in front of them. Damian and Rade attack me with open arms, wounding me with the hugs that will haunt me when I die, and I know they'll be sitting at home in a world of sadness, watching me as my life ends.

Fendrel nods at me. He's never been a very vocal person - he's more of a wallflower, a sort of background type person. "I'll miss you, Dace," he tells me. It's the first thing he's said to me in days. Mostly he's just...there. Next to me. Standing, sitting, whatever. Fendrel doesn't need words to let you know he cares about you.

Apparently, Rade and Damian do. They're yelling in my ear, telling me tactics from all the Hunger Games I've watched myself. Rade tells me to find a weapon to defend myself and then get the hell away from the other tributes; Damian tells me to just get the hell away from the other tributes. Both then say find shelter, and water.

"And, Dace, try to stay alive," Fendrel adds when they've finished.

After that, it's all teary goodbyes with my parents. My father is crying and trying to comfort my mother at the same time, and suddenly Rade and Damian are crying too. It's a heartbreaking scene. I'm crying too. Fendrel is just sitting next to me on the velvet covers, his arm touching mine.

Then the Peacekeepers return, and they're gone.

I wait on the bed, feeling the soft covers despite the fact they feel tingly and funny.

Freddie and Luci come in. It's a moment before I realise there are three shadows, and then Ruta steps out from behind them. It's clear she's been crying her eyes out.

She flings herself at me. "Dace, Dace, I just wanted to say, I'll miss you, and I'm so grateful for everything you did for me, getting those boys to stop being so mean, and being there for me when I needed you. I just wanted you to know that I don't want you to die, that I think you're amazing and just remember you're a beautiful person, no matter what happens." Ruta pauses to take a breath. "Priss thinks you're amazing, too, she's so glad you helped me, and she's upset that you're... leaving, too. But I don't want you to go, Dace, I don't want you to go!"

There's a short second of silence, in which I rub Ruta's arm a little to try and calm her down, and then she bolts out of the door, leaving me, Luci and Freddie in the room.

"I guess that was all she wanted to say," Freddie says, grinning, light hearted as always. When Caile died, Freddie was the one who kept me sane, laughing with me through the night, distracting me. Luci's not good at distractions; she's too empathetic, focusing too much on the event. Freddie tends to focus more on cheering you up than exactly how you're actually feeling.

Luci smiles slightly. "None of us want you to go, Dace."

"Well, someone did," I grumble.

Luci sighs. "I know, Dace. I know. But they had to vote for someone, didn't they?"

I nod. Freddie decides to cut in there, to say "Well, you've got Rade and Damian rooting for you anyway - I could hear them from all the way down the street!"

I smile slightly. Rade and Damian are generally the loudest kids in the town, excluding their friends. Especially Jorje Hawley and Mylo Kilby III (Mylo Kilby's, the victor of the First Hunger Games's, grandson). They can all be counted on to make the most noise, and even get repeatedly suspended from school due to the comments and amont of noise they make in the classroom.

All too soon, it's time for Freddie and Luci to leave, and I'm on my own again. That's it, I think. All my visitors. Who else would come, anyway?

My answer comes soon enough. Luiss, the Peacekeeper, the one who let me off punishment yesterday.

"Hello, Dace," he says. "I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you alone sometime."

I stare at him in surprise, unsure of what to say. "Er..."

He smiles at me. "I believe you met my brother, Leonel, when you were five?"

I nod. Leonel was the Peacekeeper who made that comment about Caile. The words ring through my head again - "Unfortunately, your sister's just those three years too young to compete in the Hunger Games, or else we might be able to knock some sense into you, young Dace Marchley. Maybe, if you continue to be such a little pest, we'll get you your punishment in a few years' time, what do you think? I'm sure Caile would be pleased to know it's your fault she's got to fight for her life, wouldn't she?"

I hadn't known Leonel had a brother, though. When I'd got my first close look at Luiss yesterday, I'd spotted the similarities, but then they all wear the same uniform; they all look the same.

Luiss smiles. "I never liked him much. He was a bit of a bully when we were younger, and me being four years his junior didn't help me in any way. I was always pretty scared of him...but I'd have hit him if I could, too. I never had to, though, because one brave little girl did the job for me. After that, he retired to the Capitol. I guess all bullies are cowards underneath, and" - Luiss shrugs - "you made a fool of Leonel in public. So thanks."

I stare at Luiss. So this was why he'd stopped my punishment yesterday; because he felt he owed me. For hitting his brother nine years ago.

Strange world. Strange, strange world. All it takes is one weak little slap, and I'm saved a suspension... or worse. Luiss could have saved me a whipping yesterday.

"So when your name came out of that ball when you were twelve, I was devastated. And then your sister came forwards to take your place," Luiss says. "I watched those Games like I've never watched the Games before - with interest. And then your sister died at the hands of Cayus Hollis. I cheered when Cayus was killed, and I'll bet you did too."

Actually, Luiss is wrong. Nobody in our house cheered. There was just silence, a sort of silent respect. For the boy who caused us so much emotional pain when we watched him kill Caile. He was dead. There was no happiness; there was no room for happiness in the small space in our lives that wasn't consumed by the loss of Caile. There was only relief. Relief that the victor would not be the same boy who killed Caile. Relief that we wouldn't come face to face with him when he did the Victory Tour. Relief that he wouldn't recieve a life of fame and fortune.

"And this year, you were chosen again, by your district," Luiss continues. "How hard that was on me, because we all know why people voted for you. Because of the fire, the temper, that makes you a disgrace to Panem. The fire that disappeared so long ago. The fire that those who haven't watched you grow into who you are now are afraid of, because they think you'll incite a rebellion. And the Capitol will crush us again."

Luiss' eyes meet mine for the first time since he entered the room. "Of course, the Reaping must have been harder on you than on me. You were the one who was chosen, who was betrayed by those who couldn't be bothered to get to know you for who you really are. But, Dace, just know this - if you lit the fire of rebellion, I would keep the embers glowing. No looking back."

I nod, unsure of what to say.

"Good luck, little trooper," Luiss says, as the other Peacekeepers usher him out.

And then I'm alone, truly alone. To think about what Luiss said, what Ruta said, what Fendrel and Rade and Damian said. But it's only a few minutes before more Peacekeepers arrive - and, although I look, I can't find Luiss among them, and I doubt I'll ever see him again - and take me to the train station. In a car.

A car. I've never even seen one before, let alone ridden in one across the cobbled streets of District Eleven. The cobbles don't make a difference, though - the suspension makes the car ride as smooth as if we were travelling across a brand new mirror.

We reach the train station in plenty of time. Kalla shows me to my compartment on the train. Jede and I get one each. Tiah, Mylo and Kalla probably do as well, but I don't know where they are right now.

I haven't even spoken to Jede yet. All I know about him is that he's Ruta's brother. Mind you, being Ruta's brother gives me a pretty high opinion of him. Ruta, who thinks she's ugly and horrible and stupid, and that she doesn't deserve to live. Ruta, who doesn't see the light that shines out of her, the beauty in her personality. Ruta, who thinks her only talents lie in making hair look pretty, yet who sees the world in a whole different way to everyone else. Ruta, who can do the most amazing things with her hands, who can play the most complicated tunes on instruments she makes from grass and twigs. Ruta, who thinks she's not worth anything, who has trouble figuring out what to say to people, who panics if she has to speak in front of people for any longer than the time it takes to give an answer in class - and she doesn't do that too often, either. Ruta, who's friendly and caring and clever, who must have rehearsed what she said to me in the Justice Building a million times over just to get it right, and now she's probably worrying over whether she said the right thing.

Ruta, who's like a sister to me, yet she doesn't see why I care about her at all.

I wonder what Jede and I will think of each other. Jede might not be a bit like Ruta. Maybe he's a horrible person. Maybe. Or maybe he's like Ruta. Maybe he's somewhere in between. Maybe he's completely different to everything I've contemplated so far.

I look around my compartment. There's a chest of drawers with some clothes in, and I get changed into a dark red shirt and black trousers, which hug my legs. I don't bother with a shower; I had one yesterday, and it'd take a while to get used to being so clean. When Kalla calls Jede and I for food - Tiah and Mylo are already at the table - I stare open-mouthed at the array of food in front of us.

I spent the next hour nibbling at a bun while Tiah, Mylo, Kalla and Jede stuff themselves silly with all kinds of strange foods that I've never seen before. Orange. Banana. _Pineapple_. Whoa.

When they've finally decided they've had enough, I've managed to eat nearly two-thirds of my bun - which I discovered has little bits of this strange brown stuff that looks like hard mud in it, but which tastes really sweet. "Not hungry, Dace?" Kalla asks me. "Come on, eat - you'll need to eat well and get strong for the arena!"

I shake my head. If I eat anything now, it'll probably come straight back up.

"So," Mylo says, looking Jede up and down, "this is the pair we've got this year. What do you think, Tiah?"

Tiah looks almost bored as she takes in Jede's large frame. How anybody could be bored looking at Jede, I don't know. I suddenly realise that Ruta's brother is actually sort of pretty. He has dark, curly hair - a lot curlier than Ruta's, like Priss' hair is - and wide, dark brown eyes. His nose is slightly too narrow, but that's the only blip on his face. In his build, there are none.

His muscles are _huge_. And I mean, muttated bear size.

"What?" Jede questions, grinning, as he takes in my expression.

"Nothing," I answer, managing to tear my eyes away from him and look at Mylo and Tiah again.

Tiah chuckles, and then turns serious. "Hmm... I'm afraid there's nothing much we can do about you. You'll have to be pretty clever to survive, because I can't see any physical advantages. You don't look to athletic - no offense - and you don't look too strong either."

"Aren't you supposed to be giving me advice?" I ask - not sarcastically, really, more like a reminder. "Not just telling me I'm going to die because I'm not athletic enough?"

Tiah and Mylo give each other a quick glance. "Here's some advice, kid," Mylo tells me. "Think."

"That's all?" I say in surprise. Mylo nods.

"Think, and you'll survive a few days. Don't think, and you'll die."

The Capitol - a shining example of a cruel city hidden beneath incredible views and full-body tattoos. Kalla's golden eye-feathers (you can't really call them plain 'fake eyelashes') appear almost normal. The sparkling tattoo of the Capitol seal - talk about patriotism - makes her fit in a little more. The six large hoop earrings - three on each ear - jangle around and make noise, but don't do much else. Except probably get in the way.

It's hours ago now that we arrived. My prep team - Jarradt, Aimah and, coincidentally, Rade (who is a girl, unlike my brother) - stripped me of around seventy-five percent of my body hair, and then washed a few layers of dirt and skin off, before handing me over to Luikas, my stylist.

I am now standing in a giant chariot, dressed as a piece of wheat. Jede is next to me. I'm not sure what his outfit is meant to be, but it looks good. But then, maybe everything looks good on Jede. If he wins, he'll have girls crawling over him back in District Eleven, and probably in the Capitol too. Maybe some rich Capitol girl will buy his way into the Capitol, and he'll have Capitol-born kids, and Ruta's little neices and nephews will never see the Hunger Games as anything but entertainment.

I don't want that. Maybe Jede will teach them what the Hunger Games are really about, maybe he'll teach them the importance of humanity, of compassion, of life. Or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll never live in the Capitol. Maybe he'll refuse that rich girl's offer, if he can, and live a quiet life back in District Eleven.

If he wins. Which, considering his size and good looks, isn't that far-fetched. The sponsors will love him.

Me, on the other hand? I'm not going to pull many sponsors, not compared to Jede and probably half the other tributes. When we watched the recap of the Reapings of the train, I saw them all, and a lot of them look like they could crush me like a bug. District One's Herculos Morrow and District Three's Zamial Thorne - the boy who kept trying to volunteer year after year but was always too late - seem by far the most dangerous, considering both of them look like they could lift that train right of the rails with their bare arms. They're not the ones who stick in my head, though. A small, wiry boy from District Five, whose name I remember to be Rainer, hops up to the platform with a spring in his step, happy to have been chosen. He looks weak, especially compared to Herculos and Zamial, but he also looks like he can move much more slickly, quickly, quietly. Something about his face makes me think he's pretty clever. Which is dangerous. For me, at least, and for the other tributes - even Herculos and Zamial.

Other tributes haunt me, too. District Twelve's tributes, a small, blonde boy named Saylor, who looks like he's never had enough to eat all his life, and his fellow tribute Asanie, dark haired and ashy eyed, who couldn't be any older than I am now. District Eight's Zyan and Zohi - twins, almost identical and almost certainly not up to the task of competing in the Games.

Like me. I wonder what the other tributes thought, watching me come forwards? Did they remember Caile, how she volunteered for me and died, and do they now realise the tragedy that this was not enough to save me? My district wants me to die - and so be it, whether Caile likes it or not.

I realise, with a surge of anger, that my district choosing me a tribute means they have forgotten Caile's sacrifice. This is not just an insult to me, an insult that will end in a death sentence. This is an insult to Caile's memory. How dare they pick me as tribute, in light of what Caile did?

I haven't been paying attention to what's going on. Our chariot - so suddenly that it makes me jump - rolls out into the open. Crowds of people are watching us on either side, mainly focused on District Three's chariot. I can't see them from here, so I don't know why everyone's staring. Maybe they're naked. Maybe they're naked and have been made to wear sparkly tattoos of District Three seals, like Kalla's Capitol one.

Maybe they look really, really bad. Problem with that is, nobody's booing. But Zamial's not much to look at anyway, and it wouldn't be hard to find something that made him look ugly. I try to remember the female tribute, but all I can remember is that her friends shouted out, "Jakie, no!" when she was called. Jakie wasn't her name, though, it was...

Oh, I don't know. I don't even know why I'm worrying about that now, when so much is going on. I notice Zyan and Zohi's chariot, their factory costumes which, just like my wheat one, reflect the character of their districts.

I glance at Jede. Whatever it is that he's wearing, it makes him look...pretty. There is no other word for it. Maybe _handsome_, or something like that. Pretty. Whatever.

Why does Jede always have to look so good? I bet I look like a complete idiot in my wheat costume.

**End of Chapter Notes:**

**I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. Like I said last chapter, haven't you heard of Suzanne Collins? This whole world was created by her. If you don't know who she is, go look her up. And read her books. Although why you would be reading this if you haven't read The Hunger Games trilogy is a mystery to me.**

**(By the way, if you're thinking Dace is a 'clone' of Prim since both their sisters volunteered for them at the Reapings, you're wrong. Caile's death blew out the fire in Dace, but I warn you - and I hope this isn't too much of a spoiler - that if you blow on embers, they spark again, and the fire is reborn. Prim never had that fire. And Prim was far more liked by her district than Dace, obviously).**

**If you didn't read the notes after Chapter 1, this IS my first story, so be nice to me! I welcome a bit of constructive criticism because I want to be a better writer, but I can't do that without your help.**


	3. Chapter 3 Confession

CHAPTER THREE: Confession

_The wind whips through the square, the crowds lining up, children separated off into age groups, and the people who generally don't care who gets chosen weaving their way through the sea of people, taking bets off anyone who will do business with them._

_Kalla Lonis is standing on the stage, talking, but I can't hear her over the wind in my ears. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm no longer with the children, roped off into sections, but I'm standing with the crowd at the back. Ruta is next to me, and Luci and Freddie, but they all look more grown up. We're safe from the Hunger Games. They can't touch us now._

_Kalla saunters softly, lightly over to the huge glass ball that holds the girls' names, and picks one out. Her voice floats over to me, and I try not to hear, certain that it will be someone I know, someone I love._

_"Siana Lauter!"_

_My eyes scan the crowd for Siana. There she is, seven years older than the last time I saw her, standing with the twelve year olds. Next to her is Ruta's little sister, Priss Vasher. Siana looks shocked, but she's trying to move away from the others, up to the stage. Priss is hanging onto her arm, though, trapping Siana where she is._

_"No! You can't go!" Priss yells to the now-silent square. Those who were talking, or even just fiddling, are now statues, silent as stone, still as dead kittens. "You'll die, Siana! You'll die there!"_

_Everyone is watching. Nobody moves. Breath comes slowly, yet I'm sure many of the people in the crowd aren't breathing at all. They know what's going to happen next. Priss will volunteer to take Siana's place._

_"You'd die, too," Siana reminds Priss. "Neither of us have a better chance than the other. I'm the one who was chosen; let me go."_

_Priss stares at Siana for a long moment, and then takes a big breath and turns to face the stage. "I vol-"_

_"I volunteer!" someone yells. "I volunteer as tribute!"_

_Kalla's eyes scan the crowd, as do mine, as do Siana's and Priss'. But we can't find the shouter, can't see who the mystery voice came from, and pretty soon we're going to have to decide whether it's Siana or Priss who dies._

_"I -" Priss begins again._

_"I VOLUNTEER!" the voice yells, and then out of the crowd runs Caile. She hasn't grown an inch in the two years since she died, she hasn't changed at all. She's still the same sixteen-year-old girl. "I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute!"_

My eyes snap open. "Caile!" I shout, before I remember she's dead, that she died two years ago in pretty much the same way I'll die in just a few weeks - or even just days - time. In the Hunger Games. The same way as - I do the maths quickly in my head - five hundred and fifty-two tributes before me.

Five hundred and fifty two children have died in the Hunger Games. One of them was my sister. Another - Kork Rosavell in the twenty-first Hunger Games - was Fendrel's friend Noha's brother.

Noha'd attacked one of the Peacekeeper's that had hold of Kork's struggling arm that year - I don't think I've ever seen another tribute struggle so hard as Kork Rosavell did - and so he was punished. A public whipping. A hundred slashes for punching that Peacekeeper, Sol Trean, just three times. The district's doctor wrote him off as a lost cause when he was carried in, so Noha Rosavell died in his father's arms that night. He never got to say goodbye to Kork.

Kork died at the Cornucopia. One of the Career Tributes took him out with a knife before he'd had a chance to get to the edge of the lake he was running for.

"Dace?" someone asks, knocking on the door of my bedroom suite - the largest, most lavishly overdecorated place I've ever been in - and it's a voice I've never heard before.

I open the door, still wearing the blue pyjamas I wore to sleep in. It's the District Two escort - I recognise him because his whole body has been dyed blue, and I heard somewhere once that he was the first one to ever get that treatment.

"I'm Evarett," he introduces himself, shaking my hand. To my surprise, his skin feels perfectly normal. "I'm afraid there's been a little accident."

"Where?" I ask, suddenly concerned. Something's wrong. Judging by the smirk on Evarett's face, he's not taking it seriously. "When? Who?"

"Here, now, you," he says, answering all three of my questions in three words. And then he punches me in the jaw.

As I lay on the floor, in a pool of blood, it registers that what Evarett is doing is illegal. I half wonder why he came for me - surely Zamial and Herculos and the other Career Tributes are surely much more intimidating opponents for his tributes - but when he stamps on my legs, hard but deliberately, I realise that I have bigger things to worry about right now. Evarett is trying to break my legs, and I'm powerless to stop him.

"Little girl, little girl..." Evarett says. "Dace Marchley, don't you recognise me? You know Evarett's not my real name. Sure thing, I'm blue now, but I'm still the same old Leonel. You've forgotten me completely, haven't you?"

Leonel.

He sure held _that _grudge for a long time.

"I was five!" I gasp. Leonel laughs. "I was only five!"

Suddenly, Leonel's blue face hovers little over and inch above mine. "You were old enough. I still say you should've got the death penalty for what you did - embarrassing me like that. Hah." A little dribble of snot appears on the end of his nose. "You have no idea what my colleagues said after that - that I was weak, letting you take control of me like that. Letting you get away with it too, because your stupid _sister_ pleaded for your life."

He smirks.

"She didn't get what she wanted, did she? You're gonna die now anyway, and my understanding is she's dead already -dead to save your life." He laughs. "So she's not even here to see you die, now, is she? She might as well have let you die two years ago - two years! What a measly amount of borrowed time she bought you!"

I growl, resisting the urge to punch Leonel in the face. Leonel, who I slapped so many years ago, is taking his revenge now, when I'm about to die anyway. Oh, he wanted me to die from the beginning. From the moment I hit him in the square in front of two hundred people when I was five years old, right at the beginning of the Harvest Festival that year.

Because he was _embarrassed. _What better reason to want someone dead is there?

But then, the Capitol kills twenty-three children each year for pretty much no reason whatsoever, and they treat it like a celebration. I don't even know why I have to die; the older generation, the ones who were alive during the uprising of the Districts, are forbidden to talk. I've seen three men and a woman given the death penalty already in our district, for passing the story down. The kids they told - their children, or random boys or girls they met on the street - were sworn to secrecy, so the storytellers' aim of keeping the rebellion alive would be quashed.

I remember the woman who was shot in particular. Pinelepi Waters, that was her name. Pinelepi'd told a group of kids on a street corner - I remember watching her talk, hearing what she was talking about, and running off back to where Fendrel was waiting for me. A nearby Peacekeeper overheard me telling him what I'd heard Pinelepi saying.

I'd never got a good look at the kids Pinelepi was talking to. I was too shocked to hear the words _fighting the Capitol_, _unfair advantage_ and _destroyed Thirteen_. Of course, back then - I was twelve at the time; it was right after Caile had gone off to fight in the Games - I didn't like the Capitol much, but I was too scared to do anything about it, too scared because my sister was going to be fighting for her life the next morning when it should have been _me._

It should have been me.

Something tugs on the edge of my memory, elusive, but I'm sure I know what it is.

"LEONEL RYDER!" someone yells. Leonel's body is lifted from atop mine, and I recognise Kalla and Tiah in the doorway; someone else is struggling with Leonel. Mylo.

I find myself wondering vaguely what Luiss would have done if he were here, but as the scene swirls around in my vision and I feel the floor drop away, I have bigger things to worry about. I'll be in the arena in less than a week; has Leonel injured me enough that he has ensured my death at the Cornucopia?

When I wake up, it's bright. My legs seem completely healed, much to my surprise. I'd have thought Leonel had injured me much worse than that, maybe even broken my bones, but the Capitol medicines and healing methods had healed me in... how long was it, anyway?

I look around myself. I'm in my room in the Training Center, and two young Avox girls stand by my bed. They're identical, with pale skin and strawberry blonde hair that falls to just past their shoulders. They couldn't be much older than I am.

Abrubtly, I am angry. What did these two do to end up here, with their tongues cut out, never to speak again for the rest of their lives? Surely nobody would ever be so cruel to -

The Capitol is merciless, I remind myself. There is nothing the Capitol would stop at, no matter how much I wish for there to be a limit to its cruelty.

The Avox girls just stand there, watching me, until Kalla, Tiah, Mylo and Jede come in. Kalla nods to the twin Avoxes and they leave. I watch them go, almost sadly.

"Dace," Kalla says. I turn my attention to her, but out of the corner of my eye I see that Jede is also looking at the door where the Avox girls disappeared. "How are you doing?"

Strange - she sounds like she actually cares. Odd thing for someone who's brought me here to die. Maybe she just wants me to be the best I can when the show starts.

"I'm fine," I lie.

Kalla nods, reassured, but I see Tiah and Jede glance at me, and I know I haven't fooled them. Tiah's female (and non-Capitol) intuition would have alerted her to my emotions both with Leonel and the Avoxes. Jede... I don't know. We didn't even know each other too well. Maybe he was just good with people like that.

"The rest of the tributes start training in three hourse," Mylo tells me. "If you feel up to it, you can join them. Remember, you'll be in the arena in four days so it's probably best to get as much training as possible."

He says something else, quietly, to Kalla. I don't hear what he says, but Jede does, and by that look on Jede's face he didn't like what he heard.

"Well then," Kalla says, smiling brightly. "Let's go down to breakfast then, shall we?"

Mylo and Tiah nod, and follow Kalla to the door. Kalla disappears down the hallway, but Mylo turns and says, "Jede? Aren't you coming?"

Jede shakes his head. "I just want to talk to Dace. In private."

Mylo frowns, but Tiah nods and drags her fellow victor away down the corridor.

"You're not okay," Jede tells me. I watch him until he continues. "Dace, Ruta thinks the world of you. When she came in to say goodbye to me, I think she was crying more for you than for me." He sighs. "I was never a good brother to her, was I? I always liked Priss more than her; I always put her last. Maybe, to her, that meant I didn't love her as much. But I did, I do, I always have. Now I'll never be able to make that up to her."

I swallow my anger. Ruta never mentioned a brother to me - I hadn't known Jede existed until the Reaping - and yet he made it seem like he played such a big part in her sadness. She was never good enough; that's how Jede made her feel.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Jede asks. For all his prettiness, I have to agree, but I don't let him know I do. Part of me doesn't. Yet part of me is still protecting Ruta, still being that big sister that will always look after her, and I know that, for her, I shouldn't like Jede. Because that would mean betraying Ruta.

"I'll take that as you don't," Jede whispers, when I don't reply. I hear the hurt in his voice, and I'm surprised. "Dace, I...there's something I want you to know."

I wait, knowing what's going to come next and hoping - hoping beyond all hope I've ever felt before - that I'm wrong.

"I... I like you, Dace. I've never felt this way around anyone else before," Jede says, his voice barely above a simple breath. "I don't know how to explain this, really. I... I need you."

My face hardens. I was right.

"Please, Dace, let me like you," Jede says, his voice full of longing. My face is frozen hard, like stone, like a statue. "Let me like you. For Ruta."

And then I am no longer a statue. I am something else entirely.

**End of Chapter Notes:**

**I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. Unfortunately my name isn't Suzanne Collins, and I have never written any bestselling books in my lifetime. I'm just a fourteen-year-old girl who writes fanfiction.**

**Jede was not supposed to do that. He just did. Not my fault. Okay.**

**Please review! I haven't got any reviews so far, I don't know whether my story is good or bad. I'm not posting up my next chapter until I get at least two reviews - please? Constructive criticism is welcome, but don't be too harsh, this is my first story!**


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